Lockwood & Co: The Hollow Boy
by Alias Russie Neontuhr
Summary: When Lucy goes off into the most dangerous parts of London to hunt down a serial killer that might be hunting her, things get a little complicated when she ends up having to solve two mysteries at once, and possibly more lives at the same time.
1. Chapter 1: A Bad Case

**THIS IS MY OWN MADE-UP VERSION OF THE NEXT BOOK FOLLOWING THE SCREAMING STAIRCASE, WHISPERING SKULL, SUMMARY OF BOOK 3, AND MADE-UP FACTS. PLEASE R&amp;R!**

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_1: A Bad Case_

Our case didn't start out well.

"The telephone's broke," George said promptly, two hours before we were due to investigate Mary Blake's ghost.

"Yes, well, we need more tea," Lockwood remarked helpfully.

I did the thinking. "The telephone's broken, we usually call Pitkins Brothers to get more…So who's going?"

The two boys studiously avoided my eye.

"That's women's work," George pointed out.

I eyed a cup on the kitchen counter, calculating how long I have to throw the thing at George's head before Lockwood intervened.

Not long.

"All right, Luce," Lockwood bargained. "We have to check our supplies and what-nots, and all you have to do is get out in the sunshine and take a walk. How hard can it be?"

"Very," George agreed.

And it wasn't that I wasn't willing. Not under "normal" circumstances anyway. It was because _George_, as always, never wanted to do it and _had_ to point it out, making me feel grouchy because I felt like I'm always the one pointed at to do it.

So it was with ill-grace that I jammed on my flip-flops, tossed on my navy-blue jacket, and stomped out the door.

Bond street wasn't far, but it required me to pass through the main street, (unless I wanted to take the tube, which would be packed at this hour of day with commuters hurrying home) composing of Regent Street, where DEPRAC and Scotland Yard headquarters lay, besides the Fittes and Rotwell's massive buildings.

These days, I was feeling proud of my status as an agent, and as Lucy Joan Carlyle of Lockwood &amp; Co., so I no longer slouched and walked through London with my head down, eyes cast at the sidewalk in front. I walked with my chin up, eyes straight ahead, and people parted for me much more respectfully. Despite what I'd said to Lockwood and George, I was actually enjoying the walk.

Then a movement behind me caught my eye. I slowed down, glancing behind me, but there were so many people around me that I couldn't tell who it had been. Plus, I was an agent, so there were a lot of eye-staring by the people around me. Yet I couldn't shake off the unease, a feeling that _someone wanted to _hurt_ me._

That's nonsense, I thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling out, but I wasn't getting very good lately at blocking out my instincts (except for the occasional ones about hitting George over the head with the ghost jar).

And when my eyes caught a man, slightly out of place with his distasteful, dandy clothes and disgusting flair, I shuddered involuntarily and tried to catch him again, sure that a glimpse could save my life. There had been something eerily familiar about his eyes.

And so that's how I was, glancing behind me like a demented owl, that I crashed into someone.

"Watch where you're going!" I spat while I resentfully offered my hand to help the person up.

That was, before I noticed who it was and snatch my hand back hastily, leaving Quill Kipps stupidly grasping at air.

"Ms. Carlyle," Kipps said in greeting, a little mournfully as he heaved himself up while I goggled at him. It wasn't the politest meeting we'd had, but then, there was nothing _polite_ when it came to Kipps.

"Quill Kipps," I said warily, taking in note of the people accompanying him.

There was Kat Godwin, Kipps right-hand woman, who cut quite a figure with her amazingly sharp chin and blond-flick hair. The only thing we have in common is the talent of Listening, creative sarcasm, and the ability to annoy each other's guts out.

Bobby Vernon was there too, a short guy who helped Kipps with research. I almost missed him behind Kipps—he'd fit in more with the iron gnomes in someone's front yard than with a bunch of Fittes rats.

Ned Shaw and his unruly mop of hair stood behind them, an imposing figure if Lockwood hadn't beat his butt a few months ago. His hand was clenching and reclenching his rapier hilt, making me think wistfully that I had brought my own rapier.

They were all staring at me like I was a specimen in the London Museum, which wasn't unusual but bothered me.

"What are you guys doing?" Talking to them always left a bad taste in my mouth, but I could always rinse it out later.

"Scotland Yard needs help…with a case," Kipps answered hesitantly.

"Ah, so you guys can be bothered to waste time," I jeered knowingly, bobbing my head up and down, then hurriedly walking away, trying not to trip over my flip-flops.

I thought that maybe it was Kipps who'd stared at me. But I'd felt it _behind_ me, not in front, and when I'd collided with Kipps, there'd been genuine surprise on his face.

But there was no incident the rest of the trip, leaving behind only a sense of dark insecurity.

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We stood in front of a towering building that looked more like a mansion than a small home someone might live in frequently. The last rays of sunlight streaked across the gray autumn sky, making the place more forlorn and sinister.

"That's a lot of rooms to check," I commented.

Lockwood glanced at me, but said nothing. Maybe both him and George felt the vibes of unease radiating from me. That wasn't good for ghost-hunting because they'd feed off of any strong emotion—fear, anger, etc.—and grow stronger and more aggressive. Lockwood and George both knew that. So should I.

"You okay, Luce?" Lockwood asked slowly.

"Yeah, because if you're still angry with us," George said, hitching up his pants as he shifted a duffel bag from one hand to another, "then we'll be fried in there. Maybe you can stay here and we'll go in."

"No, thanks," I said sharply.

To prove my point, I squared my shoulders, walked up the stone steps, pushed the door open (already unlocked), and stepped inside.

It was musty and cold, with a gloomy feeling of _deadness_ to it. There were cobwebs everywhere, making it hard to tell where exactly the Source lay. A hallway stretched out in front of us, with closed doors to either side. We'd entered into an enormous atrium, with a massive spiraling staircase reaching up into the inky darkness.

I heard the scuffing of boots on wood, then Lockwood and George stepped up beside me, setting the duffel bags of iron chains, seals, and cans of magnesium fire down onto the floor.

There was a silence.

"Right!" Lockwood said briskly, clapping his gloved hands together. A pair of sunglasses were clipped to the flap of his long coat. A lock of dark hair hung across Lockwood's brow elegantly, making him look like a very handsome photo model in the _London Society_. "Let's get ourselves a ghost."

I wasn't very motivated.

"Where shall we start first?" I asked lamely. If they hadn't noticed, there must be dozens of rooms in this house. Then, I notice, if Mary Blake had lived her like she'd claimed over the phone, then the house would've been cleaner and less cold. But I decided, after a series of plausible and improbable excuses, not to tell Lockwood and George, who would have a smart-butt comment in which I wasn't in the mood to hear.

"Ground floor, then first landing," Lockwood said, unperturbed.

"Should we split up?"

Lockwood and George gave me stares that made me feel super self-conscious of how independent—and stupid—I was acting. And a little defensive, too.

"What?" I demanded. "There're so many bloody rooms, it might take Annie Ward's ghost to return before we finish it all!"

Lockwood shook his head. "We don't split up," he said firmly.

That reminded me of the new-found feeling back at Portland Row after Lockwood told us _his_ childhood story. His sister had died as an agent when Lockwood had been training with Gravedigger Sykes. That had been the news that had kept Lockwood from continuing in the Fittes Annual Fencing competition. Lockwood's parents had disappeared when he was young, and after his sister had died under the care of Lockwood's parents' relatives, Lockwood no longer trusted them. Gravedigger Sykes, a friend of Lockwood's parents, had then taken him in, and when he died, it had been a big blow to Lockwood. Soon after kicking his relatives out of his parents' home while keeping the secret of his sister's spirit close, with his parents' leftover money, Lockwood had put together Lockwood &amp; Co. agency, and here he was today, our charismatic leader defying all odds to continue a lifelong dream.

Hearing his story made mine seem childish in comparison.

We found the kitchen halfway down the hall. It was small compared to the rest of the house, and the stove didn't work, so we ended up not having our tea after all.

But George insisted on the cookies.

We were in the hallway checking the rooms with varying levels of excitement and boredom when I heard it. A low tapping, like a hammer on a nail.

I grabbed Lockwood's sleeve and stuck out a foot to stop George's advancement.

"You guys hear that?" And the moment I said it, the knocking stopped dead, leaving an eerily empty silence behind.

I frowned.

"I don't hear anything," George declared.

"That's because you're not a Listener," I pointed out.

"All right," Lockwood said slowly. "We'll go more carefully now, while..."

And whatever else he said I didn't hear, because the knocking had started again, and with everything going on, I didn't want to shout a false alarm. I glanced back at them. Lockwood, still talking, and George had drifted into another room. I took a step away.

_Just a quick peek_, I thought, feeling more courageous than usual. And I briskly turned my back and walked towards the noise.

Down one hallway, and another, then I realized I was lost.

Just as I realized that the sound I'd been hearing hadn't been with my inner, psychic ear. This was a trap.

I turned to go back, my heart starting to beat a desperate rhythm inside my chest, telling me, _Run, run, run!_

And I run into a strong, broad chest.

I gasped and then he pushed me hard. I stumbled back into a door frame and crumpled there. I blink back tears of pain and frustration, then cry out as I see the same familiar eyes that had haunted me since the Annie Ward case.

"Maybe this will teach you not to mess with me," Hugo Blake rasped.

"You're crazy," I gasped. This was even worse than when we were caught by Winkman in his shop trying to find that bone mirror. That time it was _we_. This time it was _me_.

And I was all alone with a maniac and his equally crazy sister and sidekicks behind him in my peripheral vision. I should've known.

I opened my mouth to cry out for Lockwood, George, _anyone_, feeling my heartbeat accelerating, my chest constricting. I try to stand up and grabbed my rapier hilt, but then Hugo Blake wrapped his massive hand around my throat.

"This time I truly will be a convicted murderer," he said, his yellow teeth gleaming sickly as he smiled, a dangerous gleam in his pale blue eyes. "And this time, I'll enjoy it."

I choked and tried to get his hands off me. Stars were forming, darkness loomed, and soon, there'd be nothing left.

I was dying.

Hugo shoved his repulsive face near mine while I gasped and cursed. "What can you sense now?"

"Lucy! Lucy! Curse you, where are you? Luce!" Lockwood's voice echoed down the corridor, frantic and growing closer. But I didn't hear it. He was too slow. I was fading.

Hugo Blake sneered. "To be continued, Ms. _Carlisle_," he said, then he threw me painfully to the ground and I blacked out.

_End of Chapter 1_


	2. Chapter 2: The New Girl

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_2: The New Girl_

It'd been a long time since Lockwood and I had argued. But it was all coming back to me.

"You can't just keep secrets," Lockwood fumed angrily. George glared at me, too.

But I kept silent. I didn't want them to worry, though I was sorely tempted to yell, "I told you so!" I'd known Hugo Blake was trouble and might one day come after us—specifically _me_. But they hadn't listened to me, telling me that Hugo couldn't have seen through the one-way glass window—hence the _one-way_—and told me I was acting paranoid.

No, because I was_ right_.

And now I was trying to protect them. From what?

We'd come straight home after Lockwood had revived me (neither he nor George told me what they did before I woke—Lockwood, probably silent; George, probably hallelujah). The looks on their faces could've soured milk. If I hadn't known better, I just might've thought that they were worried about me and beating themselves up for it. If only.

I hadn't been as shaken as I thought I would be. I was calm and collected. And that had worried them more.

"Someone attacked you, didn't they?" Lockwood yelled. He almost never yelled. "The case was a trap, we figured that out quick, but _maybe_ this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't wandered off!"

I rubbed my sore throat. A night's rest hadn't helped. And Lockwood screaming at me didn't help either. He hadn't had any sleep.

George's voice was quiet. "You have an idea, Lucy. Why don't you tell us?"

"I'm not agreeing to anything she says," Lockwood snarled.

I sighed. This was more trouble than it was worth.

"Fine," I said hoarsely. "Just don't beat yourself up because it isn't your fault." And I should've been prepared to say that twenty more times.

Lockwood, especially, looked _depressed_ after I told them shortly, and even George was silent, which would've creeped me out if I had had the energy to care about it one way or another.

"You couldn't have done anything," I repeated for the twentieth time. "It's my fault-"

"For what?" Lockwood looked up at me through his dark hair. "For us not being there when you most needed us?"

Then to my surprise, Lockwood came over and hugged me. So did George, a second later. It was the best thing I'd had since coming here, and was just starting to feel like Portland Row was the home I've wanted ever since I could dream. And Lockwood's cologne smelled sweet. Not George, because I could smell the sausages he'd had for breakfast.

This was all ruined by the doorbell.

Lockwood straightened, looking slightly flustered. A strange look stole over his face when he looked at me, and then it was gone when he turned away, as self-composed as ever. He ran a long, thin hand through his dark hair.

"I'll go get it," he said hurriedly, and exited the room as if he could here the uncertainty in his voice. That was so unlike him, I had to wonder, but George interrupted my train of thought as I noticed him casting strange looks at me.

"Did you swallow a lemon?" I asked.

"No, no," George said, giving me that strange look again. Then he cleared his throat, changing the subject. "You know how we've been talking about getting a new assistant to help us with all these cases that are piling up?"

"Yeah," I said slowly, wondering where this was going.

We were walking down the hallway towards the living room where all guests were met. We entered through the door way, and suddenly I had a terrible, intuitive feeling.

"Well-"

But George didn't have to explain. The red-haired girl hanging on Lockwood's arm made a sudden, appalling rush of blood flee to my head. I suddenly felt quite alive and murderous, ready to throttle a girl I'd just met and haven't even talked to. Much like I'd felt when I'd first met Florence Bonnard, or Flo Bones like she's nicknamed, for the first time.

Lockwood coughed self-consciously. I wondered if he could see the steam rising out of my nose. He certainly felt the mood in the room shift alarmingly.

"Holly, this is my associate, Lucy Carlyle. That's my deputy, George Cubbins. Lucy, this is Holly Munro. She's our new assistant." I caught Lockwood's warning look but pretended not to see it. In this mood, I was hardly going to listen if he held a gun against my temple.

"I can see that," I growled. My hands were clenched around a rapier that wasn't there. Suddenly I thought about the skull in the ghost jar down in the basement and how much I would like _Holly_ to see it.

I slowly turned threateningly to George. "You knew about this?"

Something occurred to me. I whirled to Lockwood, who had a sudden interest in the floorboards beneath us, much like the time he and George had agreed to bring the ghost jar along for our hunt of the Bickerstaff's papers and not consulted me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I coughed (my yelling hadn't helped my sore throat), and massaged my throat, glaring at the smiling, green-eyed girl. This. Is. All. Your. _Fault_.

"Hello," Holly said brightly. "George." She nodded to him, her red curls bouncing as she leaned against Lockwood just a _tad_ too close. "Lucy...er, what happened to your throat?"

"Oh, I was throttled," I said sweetly, giving her a nasty smile. "It comes with this profession."

George chortled. Lockwood sighed. He'd been expecting this. The ill-comments, not me being choked.

"Come on, Ms. Munro," Lockwood said tiredly. I got a little joy at hearing him address Holly so formally. "I'll show you around."

"Are you going to show her the room?" I asked suddenly. _Of course he was_, I thought. Why did I ask? But I felt a pang of jealousy that she'd get to be shown it on her first day when it took Lockwood twelve months to show _us_. Not that there was anything special. Lockwood's sister's spirit remained dormant. I could _sense_ her, but she'd never come out.

"Yes." Lockwood's dark eyes bored into mine, searching for something. "We don't keep secrets."

After a few tense moments, he abruptly turned on his heel and left, Holly floundering after him, using every opportunity to call Lockwood, "_Anthony_," like it was a candy she couldn't get out of her mouth. The only girl who'd dared call Lockwood by his first name.

I suddenly felt like murdering something.

"Uh-oh," George said, his blue eyes wide in mock horror. We'd started getting along better around a few months ago, especially after George nearly died looking into the bone-glass mirror, but if he kept this up, there wouldn't be much left of him for the vultures to pick.

Sensing the violent eddies in the air, George fled the room before I could grab his blond locks and slam him against the wall. Over. And over.

And over again. Wishing he were _Holly Munro_.

This day couldn't get any worse.

_End of Chapter 2_


	3. Chapter 3: A Murderer Worth Going After

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_3: A Murderer Worth Going After_

I stormed into the house ahead of them.

When I'd seen Holly trying on one of our new Italian-hilt rapiers to get ready for that afternoon's case, Lady Esmeralda was already looking a whole lot worse. Floating Joe didn't look much better either. And when Lockwood saw it coming that evening as we'd walked down the street in the waning afternoon light and grabbed my jacket sleeve, telling me sternly, "Calm. _Down_," I'd lost it like I'd never done before and run ahead of them, leaving George's sighs, Holly's giggles, and Lockwood's furious yells behind.

In this mood, I wasn't afraid of Hugo Blake, Winkman, or any other murderer, whether they were carrying an ax, a rapier, or an M16 semi-automatic rifle, _I DON'T CARE_.

The door shook as I kicked it open, splintering the latch, and strode in, breathing in the familiar musty smell of any abandoned place in London. I closed my eyes and _Listened_. I didn't turn on the lights, because as an unofficial rule every good agent knows, it's that electricity interferes. And I didn't close the door behind me, but simply walked upstairs to where I heard the dismal sighs getting increasingly louder and more like a berserk wail. I checked my luminous watch, feeling Lockwood's and George's absence profoundly despite myself.

8:05. Near nine, which was prime time for a ghost to appear. If they're strong, they'll appear even before that hour. The temperature got steadily colder as I continued walking slowly up and forward, my footsteps heavy and forced.

39 degrees, 37, 35, 33, 31, and up and up and up.

I zipped up my jacket with fumbling fingers, an action that's more habit than response, and yanked off a woolen glove, exposing my pale skin to the freezing cold. Taking a deep breath to settle myself, I let my fingertips trail across the cold, peeling pink wallpaper. Images flashed across my eyes, faster and faster like a whirling tornado of torture I no longer could get off of, until, suddenly, I was no longer here.

_I was a girl. Happy, exhilarated, sad, depressed, nervous, proud. _

_A boy._

_"J.C." I called, my voice high-pitched and peculiar with its intoxicating mixture of dread and irresistible blazing joy._

_We held hands. His eyes were blue. Blue, not like the London sky-dark, cloudy, and gray-but the blue of a sapphire gem, the sky in American summers. Hair the color of finely spun gold. And a sweet taste on my lips I can't get rid of._

_Then fear, cold fear._

_And a foreign name flashed in my mind_—Annabel Ward—_a warning, as if something like this had happened before._

_"_I'm afraid_," came a soft voice, and I suddenly don't know who I am. _

_I see one last thing: A knife, and then blood, so much blood, the blood of my dreams._

I gasped, my head jerking up. I felt the frozen tears on my cheeks and felt the hard of the wooden floorboards underneath my weak knees. I kneeled before an open bedroom, the moon illuminating something on the dark bed. And I knew, before I lifted my head wearily up. I _knew_.

The girl's half-decomposed body laid there, a knife in the chest, dark blood soaking the nightgown, and a beautiful rose in one of her pale hands. Bloody murder.

I stumbled up and whirled around. The Specter stood there. Her hair had been a red-gold of an autumn leaf, and I couldn't see her face. But it wasn't like Annie Ward's face. This time,_ I_ wouldn't look.

"_I'm afraid_," she whispered.

Keeping my eyes cast downward, hand on my rapier hilt and mind somewhere else, I said softly, "Yes, I know."

She continued staring at me. It was frigid.

"I-I can help. He's gone now. He's gone. You don't...have to wait for him."

"_Gone..._" The girl cocked her head. The cold radiating from her was now intense, making my face numb and my teeth chatter and clatter against each other.

I took a step forward. And looked in her face. Her eyes were like vacuums, endless voids of black. She was too far gone. Her lips were stained blood-red. Oh, bloody.

I felt that strange desire to help her, just like I'd had for Annie Ward, and the seven ghosts trapped in the bone-glass mirror.

"I can help," I repeated dully. What was I doing? I should just neutralize the Source!

Suddenly the girl grew taller. her eyes flared red. Her words screamed in my ear, bringing me to my knees. The psychic wind ripped my rapier spinning out of my hand and away.

"I WON'T REST TILL HE'S DEAD!" she howled. It resonated in my ears, making it hard to think.

Above the wind and the screaming (much of which was probably mine), I turned on instinct and to my surprise and horror, saw a hooded figure wrap the girl's body up in a pristine, white sheet. He paused and for a moment, our eyes connected. Blue, like a sapphire gem, like an American summer sky. Then he was gone, and the ghost girl with him. The echo, however, still lingered, haunting me:

_…Dead…dead…dead…_

"Lucy."

I turned around slowly, standing up. Lockwood was standing there, Holly and George behind him. His lips were pale, pressed together in disappointment.

And suddenly I couldn't stand it anymore. There's something worth living for.

_And that's justice for the innocent_.

"I'm going after this case."

"It's too dangerous," Lockwood said quietly. Just like him to talk about _dangerous_ after we survived the Red Room, Screaming Staircase, and Bickerstaff's bone-glass mirror.

"That girl needs justice. And I'll be the one to hunt him down for her." Suddenly I stopped, realizing the implications of what I'd just said. George was staring at me with a mixture of fascination and fear. Holly—distaste and indifference. And Lockwood: emotionless.

I turned away, not wanting them—_him_—to see the tears pricking at my eyes. I felt hurt, and it was something I thought I'd left behind when I came to Lockwood &amp; Co.

"Lucy..." Lockwood's hand touched my shoulder.

I jumped away. "No!" I yelled, my voice breaking. "I-I need some time alone."

Lockwood sensed the lie and grabbed my arm. I viciously wrenched it away. Then Lockwood drew his rapier and the world stopped.

I stared, my heart pounding. I didn't know whether to take it as a good sign, that Lockwood wanted to stop me from leaving and getting into further trouble, or a bad sign, that Lockwood wanted to humiliate me before throwing me out. It took me a second to decide.

And I threw myself at him, unarmed.

Lockwood's rapier stopped inches from my gut. And his hand was shaking.

Maybe I wouldn't die today after all.

"I'll come back," I said softly. "I'll remember. And when I return, you'll know that I have succeeded, and that means I get an extra cookie."

The attempt at humor fell against an unbreakable wall. Lockwood and George looked away. Holly looked at me.

_Take care of them while I'm gone_, I mouthed, then I fled before Lockwood and George had the courage to open their eyes and watch me leave. Because the unspoken statement still hung in the air, chilling.

If I didn't return, I was dead.

_End of Chapter 3_


	4. Chapter 4: The New Agency

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_4: The New Agency_

I walked along the bank slowly, the Thames River cruising slowly along in the dark. As much as I hated it, I needed this girl's help to succeed. And she scavenges during the night.

I glanced around, wistfully thinking about my attic at Portland Row and the rapier I'd left behind. Then I saw the dark silhouette of a figure further off in the thick mud of the river banks.

"Flo!" I hissed. I glanced around, then cupped my hands around my mouth and stage-whispered, "Flo!"

The figure's head jerked up. It began loping towards me alarmingly fast.

_Please hear me out before you stab me_, I thought. Without Lockwood, I could end up like that Fittes girl Flo tossed into the river one-handed, or worse.

"What d'ya want?" Flo shoved her filthy face up in mine. "You're that pompous rat Locky got, ain't ya?"

I rolled my eyes and decided not to comment. "No longer. I need your help."

"And for what?" Flo's blue eyes scanned my hands. I was very conscious of the gleaming curved dagger tucked neatly in Flo's dirty raincoat belt.

"Look, Flo," I explained, my eyes pleading as much as it allowed. "We can help each other, but let's just get somewhere to talk."

Flo appraised me. "Hmmm...you're buying that coffee."

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Our talk began at the Hare and Horsewhip Inn, which was at the moment free of DEPRAC and Fittes agents arresting relic-people.

"So ya quit Lockwood, eh?"

I looked down into my coffee cup. "No. I just need to look for that murderer."

A dirty eyebrow raised. "You'd be looking for some trouble, girl," Flo warned. "There're many killers 'round 'ere, and Winkman also wants your 'ead!"

I grimaced. "Look. We can get an actual apartment"—hah! I bet Flo's never heard that word!—"by creating an agen-"

"AGENCY!" Flo exploded.

"Wait!" I snarled. I could tell that being around Flo was going to change me. Both of us. "Don't you think that when we finish someone's case, we can go ahead and take their artifact if you want? Plus, it's way more fun and exciting than nosing around in a muddy river."

Flo raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to speak.

I grinned. "Let me show you."

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It took a while to find a case in the north of London. DEPRAC doesn't reach this far that well, so most people just take things into their own hands. And added with the fact that Flo stank like a barn and looked like one, too, it probably didn't help for first impressions.

Apartments stacked on top of one another and smushed next to each other was apparently common here, so that's where we went: into Apartment 310 of a certain Reyna Martin.

"Ugh," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Smells like someone died in here. Then I glanced at Flo and shut my mouth.

"Don't say nothing," Flo grumbled.

Immediately after we stepped into the living room, the temperature plummeted and I felt the brief sensation of falling off an edge.

"You call this _fun_?!" Flo shivered violently.

"You don't know the half of it," I muttered, advancing forward. "You'll need to get better clothes later."

All I had were Greek fire cans and magnesium flares left over from the last case, which weren't supposed to used in domestic environments, but this was the north of London. Rules got bent here-severely, by the lack of supervision and civility on the streets and back alleyways, and the astounding number of serial killers that harbor here freely.

Even so, I usually was a girl who stuck to the rules. But to make tonight "fun," I was going to have to play things along and give it a nudge to get the ball rolling. This might get dangerous.

"All right," I said. "do you have any silver on you? Iron?"

Flo stared at me. I keep getting surprised that she's actually taller than me by a few inches.

"Do I look like I _got_ silver?"

_No, you look like you've got a disease_, I thought.

And that's when there's a shimmer in the air. I dived away, before a picture frame cut through the air where I'd just been a moment before. Flo yelped involuntarily.

I'd busted my lip when I'd rolled and fallen, so when I'd smiled, my teeth were coated in slick, bright red. "How'd you like it, Flo? Scared?"

"Scared?" Flo cried indignantly. She doesn't know half the rules about no strong emotions, and I planned to keep it that way for the moment. In order for this to work, Flo needed to get heated.

"Flo, you need a bath."

Flo stared. It unnerved me.

"There's a reason why no one goes near you. Your hair's so dirty, rats would have trouble living there!"

"You call me ugly? You look like vermin!"

"At least I have friends."

I caught the punch to my jaw and it nearly blacked me out. The atmosphere _definitely_ was worked up. This was where the fun began.

I saw the silver chain wrapped around Ms. Martin's lamp and yanked on it, the lamp flying across the room to shatter against the wall.

Flo screamed.

I whipped the chain at the pale form that tried to grasp at Flo. The ghost shimmered then vanished with a wail only I could hear. It'd be back.

I stumbled up. "Having fun?" I asked.

Flo screamed.

I turned and fell over the table in my haste to get away from the Poltergeist's grasping hands. An image flickered in my mind-a treasure box of childhood, with the love note in it.

"Find the box!" I yelled, a little desperate by now.

The ghost lifted up the table, dumping me on the floor. It reached down and I flung the chain clumsily up.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Flo grab something and stuff it into a bag filled with lavender. The ghost froze over my terrified face. I saw an open mouth, eyes full of sickening despair, then it flickered and vanished as if an invisible wind had moved through and swept it away.

"Lucy &amp; Flo agency," I panted. Flo helped me up, nodding soberly.

Case #1 solved.

_End of Chapter 4_


	5. Chapter 5: The North Side of London

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_5: The North Side of London_

I quickly learned the prominent figures in Northern London.

Julius Winkman I bumped into on my forray for cookies and tea down South.

"Oi! Winkman!" I said cheerfully. This was 2 weeks after I'd settled in. We'd had more cases since then, enough money to rent a small apartment, and building up my insolent confidence as well. My rapier skills had also gotten better, and if you call less pan-throwing and "I want to kill you!" phrases, then the strength of Flo and mine's relationship had definitely increased, somewhere down the road of "almost friends." I'd also made some—okay, many—friends in our neighborhood. It was really astounding how many bad people there can be in London. However, it takes little to earn their respect. Save their life once, maybe twice, and befriending them becomes second nature.

Maybe...except for Winkman, his friends, and the people who constantly try to kill me.

I looked behind Winkman's broad chest and saw Leopold, his son. Adelaide Winkman, the wife, was nowhere to be seen. I turned back to see Winkman's ham-sized hand clenching a gun. Last time, we hadn't left on friendly terms, having stolen Winkman's prize, the bone-glass mirror that technically had belonged to us because he'd stolen it.

"Well, nice to see you a-argh!"

Winkman snatched my collar and yanked me close. "You again," he growled, his eyes flashing while probably recalling how we'd escaped from him and left him flailing on his butt.

"I'm not going to steal a thing," I protested. It's just a little lie. One of my newfound friends was a thief. He'd taught me light fingers.

Winkman squeezed my collar tighter, choking me. I tried to kick his shin, but he twisted me around.

Suddenly, he let go of me. Gasping, I flopped onto my back, massaging my throat again in just two weeks. A crowd had gathered, and they weren't exactly Winkman-friendly.

"Friends protect each other's backs," Tim said, slapping a crowbar against his palm. The crowd murmured approvingly.

Winkman straightened his collar, frowning. Leopold gave me an uneasy glance. I gave him a wink and a wolfish grin.

I stood up and nodded to my friends, my breezy smile back on.

"Well, Winkman," I said, my back straight, eyes filled with a defiant sparkle. A few weeks in London's less hospitable blocks and it had changed me dramatically. "Don't go to _my_ part of London."

Winkman also saw the change in me. If I didn't know better, I thought I saw the gleam of respect in his dark eyes. He straightened and gave me a curt nod. He now saw me as an equal.

An adversary.

I watched him and his son move off. Then I turned and grinned.

"Thanks, guys!" I waved.

"No prob," Tim replied, smiling. "Any time." They all waved as I walked down the street in the warm sunshine.

I fingered the folded paper I'd slipped out of Winkman's pocket and grinned. A few weeks in and I was finding irrational joy in getting under the skin of one of London's most dangerous people. I really was changed.

But another person even more dangerous and imposing than Winkman and who was as evil as I was nice, with almost as many friends as I did, was John Casper.

I walked out of Pitkins Brothers with a bag of tea slung over one shoulder and was about to lope over to Arif's to buy some ingredients to bake some cookies when I saw Inspector Montagu Barnes of DEPRAC.

I cursed as he turned and caught sight of me.

The bellow he let out could've shattered the windows. "Ms. CARLYLE!"

I ran like I'd never run before, back to London's backway alleys and dark corners.

So fast was I hightailing it out of there that I barely heard Holly yell, "Anthony!" and I only had a glimpse of him looking after me as I disappeared behind a corner.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

I rounded the corner of the spiraling stairs of our apartment building and walked right down a hallway full of dark-green painted doors to ours, Apartment 41C, at the very end. The brass plate set slightly crooked above head level was engraved with printed words: _Lucy &amp; Flo Agency_. Not very professional, but that wasn't what we were after.

Too lazy to look for my keys, I knocked.

A voice came loudly, irritated. "Open the door yourself."

There were two options: growl and curse, or sigh and…either way, I went with the latter, too tired to do something overly dramatic.

"Good 'oney, Lucy," Flo said as she breezed past me to the bathroom. "You told me you would try not to be so lazy anymore. What's up with you today?"

_A lot of things_, I wanted to answer, but was too tired to. I tossed the bag of tea carelessly on the carpet of the living room, then continued forward into the connecting kitchen and promptly fell onto the chair, staring at the floral-print wallpaper.

Flo came out, tucking a pretty strand of blond hair behind her ear neatly. Ever since we'd gotten the apartment, I'd made it my habit to make sure Flo looked presentable: shower, hair combed, pressed clothes, bruised smile with teeth brushed…but once Flo got the idea of _hygiene_, she took the matter from there even better than I could've ever. It was as if Flo had been a millionaire's daughter in her past life and suddenly remembered how to dress in a Victorian gown. I could see why Lockwood had taken a shine to her once upon a time. She was quite pretty once her short blond hair was brushed through and washed, making it shine the color of finely spun gold, and make-up helped a little for the first days. But Flo's a natural beauty—maybe not the prettiest, but certainly more than me.

Flo looked at me closely, an expression resembling concern forming on her petite features. Her blue eyes narrowed, their gaze sharp and probing.  
"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I sighed, and it was partially true. I didn't want to tell her about confronting Winkman and his son, or how rattled I'd felt after seeing Lockwood again. Flo wouldn't understand.

"Well, we better 'urry if we're going to start our new case," Flo prodded. She'd also gotten slightly better at her English, but still didn't pronounce her h's.

There was a tense silence with Flo staring at me, me staring at Winkman's folded piece of paper I hadn't yet read which I kept turning over and over in my fingers. Which was when the door bell rung.

I abruptly stood. "I'll go get it."

I snatched a pistol off the kitchen counter—a friend had shown me how to use them, guns, and rifles alike, and it had turned out that I was a natural—and walked slowly to the door. In this part of London, you never know who's knocking at your front door. Casper paid a surprise visit once…you can guess how that turned out.

I took a deep breath, then yanked open the door, briefly pressing my back to the wall, then jumped in front, leveling the gun at Quill Kipps's nose.

He looked like he'd just peed his pants.

"Oh, Kipps!" I acknowledged brightly, tossing the gun behind me out of sight. In the background, I could see Flo hastily hiding it underneath a cushion on our living room couch. "Why don't you come in?"

Kipps stared at me. For a moment, I thought he would bolt. Then he warily stepped inside, with Godwin, Shaw, and Vernon following on his heels, casting me suspicious glances.

"Don't anger your host," I muttered, loud enough for them to hear. I motioned to Flo to get the kettle going, and hoped she'd "accidentally" pour salt instead of sugar in there.

"That's how you greet your guests?" Kipps asked incredulously as he hesitantly sat down on the couch, probably afraid that I had a knife up there or something. I actually did.

"This is a dangerous world, Kipps," I replied cheerily, but my mood instantly turned dark. That statement was more true than anyone could ever know. "Now, why'd you come?"

Sensing the mood change in the air, Kipps seemed at once eager and reluctant to get the words out of his mouth. "We…need your help."

I blinked. It was an uncomfortable silence where only Flo could be heard humming.

Seems that everyone asks that these days.

"Excuse me," I said. "Could you say that again? Didn't hear."

"Yes," Godwin interrupted impatiently. "We need your superior psychic talents minus your ability to wreck everything you touch,"

"That 's better," I said, grinning. "But if you want something, there'll be hell to pay. Now." I folded my arms, plopped down on the carpet, and stared at Kipps.

"Why."

"Ms. Penelope"—Kipps shifted uneasily—"isn't so happy with our progress. If we don't finish this case by tomorrow, we might be fired—"

"Wait," I cut in, a hand held up. "This doesn't include Lockwood by any chance?"

Kipps glared at me and conceded, "No. It's about finishing this stupid ghost we can't find it or its Source but know it's there and have to find it before we get kicked out of the best agency in London!"

I smiled. "I don't think I agree with you on that last point. And why should I care about all this?"

Kipps growled. "Money."

I returned his look blandly.

I found it slightly alarming that Shaw was the one who read my mind first. Grudgingly.

"A favor for a favor."

I smiled and clapped my hands together.

"Deal. No, no, no need to shake on it, my hands are sore. Flo, call Ms. Pertridge and tell her we're moving the case to next Wednesday."  
I grinned. "We have something better to do."

_End of Chapter 5_

**John Casper, Tim, Reyna Martin, and Sybil I made up. Julius, Leopold, Adelaide Winkman, Jack Carver, Florence Bonnard, Ned Shaw, and Bobby Vernon was in the Whispering Skull. (Holly Munro: summary of Book 3—her descriptions are my own; Holly Munro sounds like a red-haired, green-eyed person, you know what I mean?).**


	6. Chapter 6: Ambush in Green Park

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_6: Ambush in Green Park_

The case in question lingered in Green Park.

We trudged there merrily, Flo and I, while Kipps and his charges loped on behind us. After a while, I forgot they were even there.

"So, when's the wedding?" I asked.

Flo shrugged, saying, "I 'ink on Thursday in 3 days." She gave me a narrowed side-glance. "I really don't know why'd 'e'd think 'bout going anywhere a mile with you, but I know he'll send you an invitation anyway, so don't worry."

The wedding in question was between charismatic serial killer John Casper and Reyna Martin. Another girl going to be dead.

"Didn't his last 6 wives get murdered by him?"

"Suspected," Flo corrected, "of it. But yeah. To be nice, we should go to Layne's to order a coffin in 'er 'onor."

"I think we should do something," I said, frowning as I stuck my hand in my jacket pocket.

"Say what?" Flo said, giving me an incredulous look. "She knows, at least the 'rumors,' and who can dissuade her other than that."

"I don't know," I said doubtfully. I fingered the silver chain in my pocket and held it out. "I kind of do own her."

"We got rid of a ghost for 'er," Flo pointed out.

I gasped. "Maybe that's it!" I turned to Flo, grinning.

We'd just crossed over the street and onto the grass. The moon was clouded tonight, giving the park a sinister light, gloomy and oppressive. The trees' branches cast lancing shadows at our feet. The temperature got steadily colder.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Godwin questioned, peering at me from around her blond-flick hair.

I snorted. "Of course we do. And if we don't"—I grinned again—"we just bluster through. It'll be fine." I waved Godwin's true-founded doubts away.

"The way you say it sounds like it will _almost_ be all right," Flo muttered. "But don't you remember—"

"We have customers, Flo," I reminded her cheerily, flashing another grin at a scowling Kipps and his team. "We should be civil."

"You almost sound like Tony," Kipps remarked. He cocked his head at me, eyes keen and curious. "What happened between you guys anyway? Haven't seen two people that close since—"

But I'd already moved off a hundred yards ahead, far enough away that he couldn't hear my teeth grinding together and melt under the fury of my gaze.

"Okey-doke," Flo said slowly, trotting up beside me. "Remember the first rule you taught me? Not that it helped because _you_ never followed it, but that strong emotions are not allowed at any time unless your name is Florence Bonnard?"  
I relaxed a smidgen and smiled in the dark, listening to the watchful silence of the woods.

"I think you got it mixed up," I told Flo. "It's Lu—"

"What is it?" Kipps jogged up to me. The rest of his team skidded after him.

"Shhh," I hissed. "Don't you hear that?" I looked specifically at Kat Godwin and her _amazing_ powers.

She frowned. "No," Godwin admitted slowly, drawing the word out like she was sucking on a lemon. "But you could've made that up."

I gave Godwin a look that made Flo shift in apprehension, as she had seen that look all too many times in the last two weeks.

"We'll talk about that later," I promised, giving Godwin a flash of my teeth as I grinned, then I began slinking deeper into the park forest, following the sighs and hisses in the faint psychic wind.

The temperature got steadily colder. I zipped up my jacket and closed my mouth, my breaths steaming beautiful plumes of snow-white clouds before me.

"Cold," Kipps commented, shivering like a leaf in the wind. Godwin was as stoick as ever, Vernon as timid as the vermin he hung out with, and Shaw as expressionless as a rock could be.

It was quite interesting really. Lucy Carlyle, former Lockwood &amp; Co. associate, Florence Bonnard, ex-relic-girl, Quill Kipps, supervisor of the Fittes Agency and my ex-archenemy, Kat Godwin, Kipps's right-hand operative and total joy-killer (works for Fittes), Ned Shaw, violent sidekick (works for Fittes), and Bobby Vernon, who was the hermit in the Hobbit come true, with his penlight and clipboard to add.

I took the flashlight hooked through my belt and briefly flashed it on. Ahead, a tunnel winded underground, the darkness beckoning and repelling me at the same time.

Vernon frowned, squinting. "That's not supposed to be there." He consulted his clipboard again.

"Nice to know," I said dryly. "Well, it's here, isn't it? And I'd say"—I bent down and ran my fingers over the freshly dug dark dirt—"this is relatively new." I frowned. "Someone did this recently." I straightened suddenly.

Flo's blue eyes widened. "Oh no—" she started.

I grinned. "That means they might still be here."

Instinctively, we all backed up into a tight circle, back to back. There was a rasp of iron as five rapier were drawn.

"Okay, this doesn't make sense," Flo said.

"It never does," I agreed.

"Who would want to do this? No one wants to fight 'gainst 5 agents—especially you, Lucy, you go to those back alley competitions regularly—"

"It might not be someone from the north of London," I observed.

"—and so whoever it is must be reckless, with probably a gun and whatnots," Flo finished promptly.

The mood shifted in the air, but I was unperturbed.

"Are we going to run away?" I demanded. "We got this. We're agents and we'll act that way."

"We're not the ones with nine lives," Flo grumbled. "And even you've wasted some—What is it?"

I'd stepped on something and had nearly slipped. Irritated, I kneeled down and picked it up off the ground. Kipps shined his flashlight on the thing I rotated around my gloved fingers. The metal was sleek and smooth, and cold as ghost-touch (not that I've had the experience).

A bullet.

The air froze. And it wasn't the normal cold of a winter coming. It was ice cold, freezing, made you breaths plume about you and freeze in the air, made your heartbeats stop and struggle to revive, as if it were encased in an ice sarcophagus.

"Guys," I said casually, not taking my eyes off the bullet, "ghost coming."

When I turned the bullet around one last time, I saw something darker on the shiny metal. I looked closer, my heart clawing at my chest, and saw the initials J.C. carved on it. An image flashed in my mind of a rose clutched in a lifeless hand.

And my heart stopped.

_End of Chapter 6 _


	7. Chapter 7: Hunter Turned Hunted

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_7: Hunter Turned Hunted_

"Run, run!" I yelled. Yelled, not screamed. I stood up calmly, hefting my rapier confidently.

"No," Flo said to me in a tired voice. "Casper?"

"Yep," I replied, not taking my eyes off the smudge I saw in the distance, a darker form on top of the moonlit hill.

"Why should _we _run," Godwin challenged.

"Because you'll die if you don't." I finally took my eyes off the figure in the distance and stared into Godwin's ice-cold eyes calmly.

And I screamed. "Run!"

The first shot rang clear through the night, jarring the Fittes agents. They hadn't been around _real_ violence, making them look like the newborns and us the old gangsters. Compared to some, they've been well sheltered.

That won't last long.

Luckily, the shot had gone wide.

But not by much.

I shoved Kipps and his team back up the way we came.

"Go!" I ordered. "And don't look back."

I turned to go, but Kipps snatched my jacket sleeve. It was dark, almost too dark to see, and the expression in his eyes were unreadable. Our breaths came hard through our mouths.

"What?" I snapped.

Kipps let out a breath. "What about you?"

I glanced back up the slope. The figure wasn't there.

"It's not safe," I said instead. _When has it ever been?_ "This is for us Londoners." I looked straight into Kipps's fierce eyes. "The ones who live dangerously."

Kipps opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "You don't know the real thing about killers. This is _my_ fight. That's _your _ghost." I turned and pointed at a familiar girl a little ways off with long hair the color of the red-gold of an autumn leaf. "Find her body. And get the hell out of here."

I shoved him away and sprung behind a tree as a shot cracked between us. It's scary, I admit.

But it's also exhilarating in its unique, sick way.

Dodging in and behind trees, I wound steadily up the slope, sheathing my rapier. It wasn't only Casper who's the formidable one.

I was one, too. And I'll bring with me justice for the innocent and unknown.

"Lucy!"

Something snatched my ankle and brought me down with a grunt. I rolled and bumped into something.

Flo shoved her face into mine. "What the hell are you doing?"

I growled, "I know who the murderer is."

Flo's expression didn't change. "So what?! You want to die?!" Her face was so close to mine that, despite the dark, I could see the dilation of her pupils and count her long eyelashes.

"E's. A. _SERIAL KILLER_!"

A bit startled, it took me a moment for my tongue to unwind.

Then I heard someone thundering up and stuck out a foot to trip the tall, massive man. I ripped out my rapier and hit him over the side of his bald head, but he must've had a hard skull the strength of a stone wall because he didn't drop. Sybil grabbed my wrist and twisted. I yelped.

"Ah, my lucky day," Sybil said, his teeth gleaming sickly. He tossed me to the ground with a kick to my stomach and advanced on me. "The girl I've been looking for since the Dinosaur Age." For someone who was so related to Casper, he had a sick sense of humor.

And Flo slipped a knife between his ribs.

I breathed hard through my mouth, clutching my stomach, and closed my eyes.

"I'm not like you, Lucy," Flo said softly, wiping the bloody blade on Sybil's shirt. "I'm not 'fraid of losing a life to save others."

"That," I answered heavily between breaths, "was sick."

No matter that Sybil was Casper's right-hand man and had probably killed more people than Casper himself. No matter that he was a cold, cruel-hearted person who would slip a knife between my ribs. It mattered that he'd been a person. A person who'd breathed, and lived, and made mistakes—lots of them, who cares?! Apparently only me.

"You 'ave that expression on your face."

I opened my eyes and saw Flo staring at me. "You're right," I said.

Flo's mouth dropped open.

I grinned tiredly. "This is a whole lot of trouble."

"Lucy."

I sighed and struggled up. Kipps stood there, the moonlight slanting through his ginger hair and freckles. His face was cast in shadow, making his expression hard to read.

He moved to the side, revealing Godwin and Shaw lugging something, Vernon following behind.

When Kipps spoke, his voice was heavy. "We found the first girl's body. But it wasn't the only one."

With dread constricting my breaths, and my heart beat clawing at my chest like a sick marching band, I stepped forward unsteadily and peered…

…into another young girl's face, a knife in her chest.

And an identical rose clutched feebly in her hand.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"Lucy, slow down!" Flo shouted, running after me. I was chasing John Casper, having seen him fleeing in the night after I saw his second wife's body. Bloody murder.

I skidded to an abrupt stop. Flo slammed into me.

"Ow," Flo moaned.

I cursed. "He's gone underground."

Flo, rubbing her nose, said dryly, "Nah, that's typical. 'E always does. It's his domain."

"Not anymore," I muttered. I reached a hand inside my pocket, fingering Winkman's letter.

This is it. If I found any more incriminating evidence, nothing's going to stop me from storming into Casper's lair. Like a mouse into a lion's den.

I walked to the nearest ghost lamp and leaned against it, waiting until the shutters drew up and flashed its brilliant white light.

"What're you doing?" Flo came up to me warily.

I waved the note under her small nose. "This. If I find something…"

Flo snorted. "Not likely. They write in code, you know. Just like we relic-people did."

I ignored her.

The lamp turned on. I ripped open the note savagely, almost tearing the neatly folded paper.

And read.

_J.C. and H.B.: _

_The time is close? Good, because I'm getting impatient. Do what you want with your sister, but remember the deal: I get the artifacts, and H.G. gets the girl, or whatever's left of her after you do what you will. I don't care. Just make it quick. The wedding's set in 4 days, and you're not going to mess up._

_If you want this to succeed, one of you will have to get the girl ASAP. Do not let her go. She's become a dangerous adversary for us all._

_J.W._

"Who can it be?" Flo looked at me, a gleam in her eyes telling me that she already knew.

My face was set in stone. "Doesn't matter. Casper needs to be stopped."

I grinned at Flo.

"No…" she started, groaning.

I talked over her. "Lucy &amp; Flo agency has a new case—Operation: Unstoppable."

_End of Chapter 7_


	8. Chapter 8: Operation the Strong Survive

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_8: Operation the Strong Survive_

I hung over the edge, my arms straining as I slowly lowered myself down, legs dangling. I let go and dropped jarringly on my feet. I flashed the flashlight briefly on in the darkness of the tunnel.

"This is it," I said as Flo jumped down beside me.

"It's unbelievable," Flo grumbled. "After just two weeks and you know the city even better than I do, both upside down and inside out."

"Oh, stop complaining."

We began moving down the dark tunnel. We were in complete darkness, but I knew the way better than the vermin that lounged here. I'd often though about breaking into Casper's fortress, but had always been inconveniently stopped. I let my hands slide down the stone wall, slick with dew and mold.

"Right," Flo continued. "I just plan while you actually do things—without thinking."

I ignored her. As we moved along, all I felt were the pressing walls around me, boxing me in. The air was humid and stale. In other words, I felt like the walls were caving in, suffocating me. This was about the time when I needed cookies-and tea. Maybe...no, no, I needed Lockwood. Take that back, because anyone who was with me ended up in trouble. Look at Kipps! And Flo! And, well, Lockwood...

...Man, I really miss him.

I didn't notice I'd stumbled until Flo's thin hand grabbed the back of my jacket.

"Whoah, there, Luce, you're gonna bust your head in-what the hell is that?"

I looked up and saw the metal gate leading into Casper's well-lit domain. The gate hung slightly open, and no sentries stood there at attention, navy-blue jackets tightly pressed without a crease in sight.

"This is creepy," Flo said.

"Wow, the great Florence Bonnard is scared? This must be bad."

Flo gave me a shrew glance. "Questioning yourself, are you, Luce? That's _extremely_ bad."

I took a deep breath. I'd read something last week in one of Flo's books about animals who fought each other and ate each other and all sorts of happy stuff to survive.

Only the strong survive.

I squared my shoulders. I would survive. I had to. The world is full of idiots...and someone has to lead them.

I strode to the gate and pushed it open. It didn't creak, so they must oil the gate very often. I frowned. It might mean that Casper had more followers working for him than I thought.

I ducked my head in. A long hallway stretched out in front, smaller alleys branching off.

"It's like a mini underground city," Flo observed.

I wrinkled my nose. "More like a big underground prison."

I walked down the hallway quickly, afraid that if I glanced back, I would lose the courage to continue. Maybe I never had any. This could all be sheer stupidity. It's just like the unspoken rules all good agents use when entering a haunted house, one of them consisting of if you linger too long on the threshold, you'll lose your courage as quickly as you got it and run like any smart person would.

But I ended up glancing back anyway, sensing something amiss, and I halted mid-step.

Flo was nowhere to be seen.

I gripped my rapier hilt so tightly that my knuckles turned bone white and cracked with a slightly agitated sound. I suddenly understood why Lockwood always got so ticked off (more I'm-going-to-kill-you! off) when we do something stupid and nearly kill ourselves in the process.

It was an understanding I didn't want to ever have to share.

I think my blood pressure had shot off the number scale when Flo popped her head off several branches behind me, making me jump so high I would've gotten the gold Olympic medal if I hadn't landed so...well, the way I did would've made anyone cringe.

I cursed.

Flo whistled. "Wow, you've picked some ripe words. But come 'ere-I've found the security control room."

I grumbled as I trudged over to the brightly lit hallway. There were doors on either side of the hallway but I didn't even glance at them. I marched straight to the high-tech security door that looked like a bank vault in those cheesy action movies.

"Shoot," Flo muttered. "It shut again."

She pounded on a section of wall and a square slid aside to reveal a pad of numbers and letters on a small, luminescent screen. Flo glanced at me, then quickly typed the code in. I peeked over her shoulder, right before Flo slammed her hand over the _enter_ key.

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay, this sounds crazy, but did I just see my name? Wouldn't Casper's code involve "I want to kill kill times 10? Hey, wait-how do you know his code?"

Flo shrugged as the massive door clicked, sank in, then slid sideways to reveal a massive, circular room filled with dozens upon dozens of computer monitors.

"It wasn't 'ard to guess," Flo replied, giving me a strange look.

It was only later that I realized she'd succeeded in avoiding the first question.

I walked inside, goggling a bit just like I'd done last year when I'd first walked into the National Newspaper Archives with Lockwood and George at my side.

Flo was looking at me closely. "You've got the strangest look on your face right now-happy because of something, and half-pained like Casper just shot you."

"Well," I said, "he's the source of all my troubles. Now what?"

I peered closer at a monitor to my right, planting my sweaty palms on the counter. It showed a room full of dark, tall objects, six of them, lined up against the wall. A massive bed that looked like it hadn't been slept-or lived-in since the Dinosaur Ages sat in a corner, regal and cold.

"John Casper's bedroom," I read from the caption. Then I frowned and bean to scan all the monitors, their screens' pictures varying from the gate to the kitchen. "He's not here."

Flo came up beside me. "That's what I was going to show you. I looked in the folders and Sybil's the main security commander. And 'e wrote a note dismissing all on-duty soldiers to the main campus."

I massaged my forehead. I've been frowning too much lately. "Do you know where that is?"

"Nope."

I tried smiling but it failed miserably. "All right," I gave in reluctantly. "Let's call it a night."

_End of Chapter 8_


	9. Chapter 9: Trouble in London

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_9: Trouble in London_

The next morning I awoke to the warm sunlight streaming through the spaces in the curtains and warming my face. I turned and rolled off the bunk bed Flo and I shared, she on top and me on the bottom. I crouched there for a moment in my pink-and-yellow nightie, reminded of Lockwood and George. It felt like eons since I'd seen them.

Decisively, I shook the melancholy feeling off me like shedding a coat, then quickly dressed in my usual: navy blue T-shirt, navy-blue skirt and leggings, and on came the familiar navy-blue jacket.

Stifling a yawn, I opened the door and came into the living room. I looked to my right and saw Flo busy in the kitchen, her short blond hair up in a messy but casual ponytail.

"You're up." There was an unspoken rule that no one said "'Morning" or "Hi" in the morning.

Flo grumbled. "Isn't it obvious? Sit 'ere."

"Oh no," I denied. "I don't need _your_ breakfast. Last time I nearly had to be carted off to the hospital into emergency. No more needles for me."

Flo scoffed. "Ri-i-i-i-ght. It wasn't_ that_ bad."

"I know." I sank into a kitchen chair, propping my feet on the table. "It was most definitely worse."

Flo glanced critically at my upraised feet, then, without a word, tossed me the _Times_ newspaper. I was surprised and a little wary as I caught it, casting Flo an inquiring look. She knew _I_ didn't read the news. Flo did-"liked to read the papers, before I wiped myself with 'em."

But I didn't get a chance to ask because as I lazily adjusted the _Times_ onto my lap, I saw the screaming headlines:

**_FITTES and ROTWELL ATTACKED!_**

And I didn't need to ask.

Long story short, last night, while Flo and I were busily hunting for a Casper that had _mysteriously_ disappeared, a live assassin had made an attempt on Penelope Fittes and Steve Rotwell's lives-tried to kill the heads of the two most important agencies of London. Coincidence? I think not.

I tossed the papers onto the kitchen table.

"We don't have any evidence,' I said disgustedly. Frankly, I had lost my appetite. Murders and would-be murders do that to you.

Flo shrugged as she turned and sipped her morning coffee overloaded with sugar. "Well, if you want to do something...north London is the place to be."

And then the phone rang.

_Ring-ring ring, ring-ring ring, ring-ring ring._

"You'd think that whoever calls me would learn not to do so in the morning," I grumbled as I trudged over to the black torture hanging on the wall next to the door.

I picked up the phone from its receiver and glanced briefly at the number. It wasn't from this district.

I put the phone to my mouth. "Hey, how'd you get our phone number?"

Inspector Montagu Barnes of DEPRAC cleared his throat. "We've got a problem."

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"You'd say," I said to Flo as we swiftly walked up the street into London's southern, more civilized district and onto Regent Street, where DEPRAC headquarters lay. "They've got their hands full of having to track down one of London's best and now, most notorious, assassin, who'll likely be able to evade them as easily as an ant can from a cow, and what with the Problem, they're in double jeopardy."

Flo didn't answer. It wasn't everyday she jogged through the richer part of London—I always did the shopping—so she was busy gaping at the sights.

I took out a little thin book I'd snatched up from Casper's bedroom and leafed through it. The cover wasn't very promising, _Necromancer_, a cheap little horror story like the ones Lockwood had on his shelves, but as I skimmed through it, my alarm began rising.

_II. The Ritual of Bringing Back a Loved One: Part B_

_7 13-year-olds (preferably girls) will be needed to bring back a female relative. A host (preferably pretty for your girl's spirit) is needed for when the ritual ends and your relative's spirit has found the real world again. Use the instructions on Page 37 how to use the 7 victims to lure your relative's spirit out of the Other World and into your host. Wait until a November full moon over a two-year period..._

I didn't read anymore. That was enough.

I elbowed Flo. "Hey, does Casper have a female relative he's so close to...say, enough to kill 6 people, attempt one, and try to kidnap me for a host? Just asking."

"Mmm? Oh, well, I think Casper had a close sister, but it's a hushed matter..." Her voice trailed off, but I wasn't listening. I'd come to a startling and horrifying realization.

Lockwood could be a necromancer.

I shook my head mutely, the world spinning around me in a wheel of dull colors and smells. I stumbled, nearly running into a ghost lamp and knocking over an old lady. the day suddenly seemed very dismal. Very realistic thoughts began ordering themselves in my head.

Why would Lockwood keep his sister's spirit in that room all those years even though as a brother and agent, he should've released and helped her to the Other Side and therefore peace? Why then did he keep his sister's room forbidden until pressed hard after a near-experience with death? What was the real reason he always saw in his mind that kept him going so passionately, the thing that drove him forward insanely?

Then I concluded: no, Lockwood hadn't killed anyone. He can't be a necromancer.

Unless he's killed people and I don't know about it.

Tough.

We walked up the steps. I nodded to the two kids standing at attention in front of DEPRAC's doors and reached to push open the doors when a flustered Tim burst out.

I think I cursed.

"Oh, Lucy!" Tim hailed. "DEPRAC's crazy today, and so's London. They've taken to hiring new kids to do their errands while the adults do the _crucial work_."

I grinned and bent down to Tim's ear, his read hair brushing my nose. "Be my eyes and ears for me in there, will you?"

Tim returned my grin. "Right, right, boss!"

DEPRAC was a frenzy. Policemen, agents, and men in black suits bustled about. The place was bustling with hushed conversations and yelled orders.

"Ask me 'gain why I 'greed to this?"

And then I saw Barnes over at a table, discussing with a group of agents. Lockwood sat casually on the table, his posture filled with easy command and confidence. George and Holly stood next to him undecidedly, and Kipps and his team stood around stiffly. Barnes's mustache was alive today, quivering and curling as Barnes talked dynamically, his hands not the object of everyone's fascination, but his mustache's queer personality.

I snuck up behind Barnes, wanting to make Barnes spill his coffee again, but then Kipps discreetly came up beside me as Barnes blabbered on to a Lockwood who had suddenly straightened. I tried not to think about how my empty stomach felt as his dark eyes stared me down.

"It's trouble here," Kipps said in a low voice. "And to add to that, we had the two bodies ready to go to the Fittes furnace today, but last night, they're gone."

I shrugged, trying to hide my anxiety. "I have an idea on who did that—who did all of this."

Then Barnes turned and saw me. "Well, who's late now?"

I grinned. "Sorry, I had to have some recovery time to get over your voice rasping over the telephone at 8 in the morning. Get to the point. This isn't anything about that assassin, is it?"

Barnes sniffed. "No, that's for _professional_ people who don't have a history of wrecking everything they touch."

I smiled, a twinkle in my eyes as Flo and I shared a glance. We already had a plan to wreck things. Sometimes, _professional_ doesn't stand a chance. _Reckless_ is what I'm aiming for.

"Then what?" Flo asked impatiently. "'Urry up, Barnes. Some people 'ave better 'ings to do than just stand there all day frowning."

Barnes scowled. "I can see why you two are partners." I fist-bumped Flo behind his back.

"Right!" Barnes declared. "To the matter. While we're dealing with the difficulties right now, this will be a chance for you"-Barnes looked at Kipps-"to earn back Ms. Penelope's favor, especially at a time like this, you"-Barnes nodded at Lockwood-"to get some money and popularity, and you"-Barnes glared at me-"I don't know, just...try not to mess anything up."

"We can't," I pointed out. "Things are already messed up as it is."

"_Anyway_, we have a quite serious case. A good mansion down in north London"-Barnes stared at me; I waved-"is in need of a check. The last owner died quite recently, and his daughter has lost her mind, blabbering about a glowing boy and bloody handprints." Barnes shook his head, his mustache jiggling in distaste.

Flo and I shared an excited glance.

"So you can guess what you need to do. Eradicate that ghost, make the house safe-"

"And leave you alone, yeah, yeah, we know," I interrupted. "Now, do you have an address or something? I mean, it's not like we _want_ to read your mind."

Barnes handed me a photograph. Everyone crowded in, their shadows casting grasping fingers at the picture I peered at closely. Freakily, the mansion looked a bit like Combe Carey Hall, with a sweeping staircase out front, massive double doors, and a queer architecture that made the building seem to reach in for a cold and deadly embrace. It also looked familiar.

Barnes called over his shoulder as he walked away, "And you work together! No sword-play, killing, or any of that." I lost what he'd said next.

I muttered, "The last owner didn't die of supernatural causes. This is one of his houses. Casper did that."

"Well, who's Casper?" George asked, scratching his head.

Kipps frowned, leaning back. "You've talked of him-is he the one who attacked us?"

"Mm-hm." I slipped the photo into my pocket. Lover's Lane. We needed to get there.

"Is he popular up north?"

"Kinda."

"Well, _who is he_?" Kipps exploded.

I hummed. "Patience, Kippy, you'll know when you see him. You guys are so alike, you could be brothers. Look for stupidity, ridiculousness, and-oh, you fly's undone again."

"Now." I looked around. "Are we just going to stand here?"

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We filed into thirty-five Portland Row. I didn't have time for reconnaissance. I needed to go to the attic to grab something, and then get downstairs so that we could plan our break-in into Lover Lane's ghost mansion.

I marched up to Holly. It was an improvement that I didn't want to grab the cabinet and bash it against her red curls.

"Did you take the attic?"

Holly pursed her full lips. "No, I took the bedroom next to George."

"Good luck with that," I muttered as I began walking up the wide, carpeted stairs. Lockwood started after me, a determined expression making his face mysterious and handsome. Then Holly intercepted him, laying one hand on his arm and staring up into Lockwood's face, her big mouth moving a million miles per hour.

I paused momentarily, my hand on the banister. And couldn't separate the relieved feelings I had from the sour, disappointed ones. Slower now, I continued up and onto first-floor landing.

I was walking down the hallway when the door next to Lockwood's bedroom blew open. A frigid wind blew across in a massive shock wave and a psychic scream tore through my ears, nearly rendering me deaf. Shaken, I wasn't in the best state when Lockwood's sister materialized in front of me. Her dark hair curled over her shoulder in luxurious waves, as rich as fine dirt. Her blue eyes were still clear.

Lockwood's sister had turned out to be a Specter, certainly a neater type of ghost than a Wraith or a Raw Bones. And she was as pretty as Lockwood was handsome.

When she spoke, her voice was not deep like an undead in the tomb, but rich and soft, like the voice she probably had when she had been alive. Both too close and impossibly far away.

And desperate.

_"You must stop Casper!"_ she pleaded.

I stumbled. 3 things went through my mind right then:

#1: Lockwood's sister was another rare Type Three.

#2: Lockwood might've lied about his past because

#3: _Lockwood's sister might've been one of Casper's deceased wives_.

That meant Casper might come _here_.

And just when I had that thought, the windows downstairs exploded.

_End of Chapter 9_


	10. Chapter 10: Blood

**Some serious locklyle coming up! :)**

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_10: Blood_

When the screams began, I'd leapt onto the banister and slid down to the bottom. I immediatly searched for Lockwood and Flo. Lockwood: I shoudn't have worried; he held hid own against two of Casper's men. Flo: I should have worried—she had no qualms about killing, especially when they're trying to kill her. Jack Carver had already stained the floor a few months ago, and it hadn't quite washed out. I don't think Lockwood needed more blood.

Then I saw a young man around the age of eighteen leap through a window into the kitchen. He strode to the door, his blue eyes scanning the fighting scene contentedly with a sharp awareness in his eyes, and then he strode right into my face.

"Lucy!" Casper's voice was a mix of surprise and exasperation.

We both drew our rapiers.

Casper growled. "It's high time you get your nose out of my business."

I flashed my teeth. "By the end of this, you won't _have_ a business."

Then he attacked and all I could think about was Lockwood and how good _he_ was. Our swords flashed as we tried ward knots and spins and crazily-invented thrusts that usually missed entirely. We were both too good-or both too bad.

It never mattered because then, as I shifted my feet before Casper's blade ripped through the sleeve of my jacket, I lifted up my rapier and took a swift whip at Casper's face. He flinced, and then blood started pouring from a long cut on his left cheek. Casper stumbled, then touched the blood on his face and held up his hand, his expression a mix of wonder and fear.

And I would've won then, but a huge bulk bulldozed into me. I lost my grip on my rapier and crashed sideways into one of Lockwood's cabinets. Gourds and books rained down on me as I blearily lifted my head. Sybil loomed over me, a giant with white bandages wrapped around his middle, with a gun. He hit me over the head, on the arms, stomach, again and again and again, until the world pooled into read and I was numb and I nearly thought my name was Dead.

After a few dull seconds, I realized sluggishly that someone was standing above me, and the clash of iron on iron rang clearly through the hall's cacophony.

I tried to stand up, but my legs collapsed. Determined, I heaved myself up and stumbled. I ended up falling against Lockwood's chest.

Lockwood disengaged his sword from Sybil's, one arm wrapped around me protectively, and sent Sybil crashing into the wall with a kick. Lockwood turned and looked down on me. He dropped his sword and cupped my bloody cheek.

"Are you all right?" Lockwood asked sincerely. I felt a quesiness in my stomach but it had nothing to do with my ordeal.

"I'm fine." Weakly, I tried to push him away. His gaze became intense.

"I told you not to mess with them," Lockwood reprimanded me.

I suddenly got angry, at my weakness, at Lockwood, at Sybil's brutality and Casper.

I pushed against Lockwood, but he was strong, and I was still weak, so it didn't have much of an effect.

"Right, Lockwood," I growled. "Thanks for you help. Can you let. me. Go now?" I struggled against Lockwood's arm as he swiftly snatched up his rapier and fended off two more of Casper's men.

Lockwood blew air between his lips. I suddenly found myself staring at them.

"Oh, Lucy."

Then in one swift motion, still restraining me, Lockwood cast his rapier away and spun me around. His dark eyes were intense, and I could see some slick strands of dark hair clinging to Lockwood's forehead from his exertion. It didn't make him any less handsome. If possible, it made him more so. One of Lockwood's hands was pressed against my back. That was good because my legs were feeling so weak, without Lockwood supporting me, I would've collapsed. Lockwood's other hand touched the back of my hair. My hands were pressed against Lockwood's chest, my face tilted up to Lockwood's. Lockwood bent down, and I suddenly found myself taking a breath, licking my lips, and closing my eyes.

Our faces jerked apart, my eyes flew open, as something, a bullet, whistled between us.

I looked to my left to see Casper dragging a screaming Holly out the window. He paused and turned back momentarily to look straight at me. Casper gave me a smart salute, but before I could figure out the flash in his sharp blue eyes, Casper whirled on his heels and dragged Holly along closer to the broken window.

Lockwood stiffened. I looked up at him and followed his gaze, but he wasn't looking at Casper,

He was looking at Holly.

Something went off inside of me, making me feel hot and cold at the same time. All the screams, grunts, and yells of the chaotic night faded away, until my thoughts flashed before my eyes. I had been wrong.

Lockwood did care about Holly.

I felt like crying, I felt like laughing, I felt like doing both. But what I ended up doing was tearing my arm out of Lockwood's grip and sprinting towards the window Casper and Holly had gone through. I couldn't sort my own feelings but I knew one thing. Lockwood cared about Holly. I wasn't about to let her die. If there's one thing I know, it's how much a person matters to you after they're gone.

I wasn't about to let Lockwood experience that for the fourth time.

I launched myself through the window, then halted.

Who _had_ fired the gun? Casper didn't use guns; he preferred knives and a blood-red rose.

And before I could turn around, someone struck me on the back of the head and I blacked out.

_End of Chapter 10_

**Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11: Playing it Dangerous

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_11: Playing it Dangerous_

I couldn't breath very well. That's probably because I was gagged, and whoever had done it probably wanted me to suffocate slowly, too, so the cloth tightened around my face jammed my mouth and half-covered my nose, too. And the ropes binding my hands and feet were so tight they cut into my skin and dug into my boots.

This was very uncomfortable.

When I first opened my eyes, all I could see was Lockwood. If I did, Lockwood would probably be the last thought on my mind. And when my mind finally cleared of fantasies, I saw a ceiling, a bricked-up window, a chair-

-And in it, sitting composed and relaxed at the same time, was none other than Anthony Lockwood himself.

There were many things going through my head.

I was afraid.

If Lockwood had betrayed me, who could I trust? I trusted Lockwood with my life. I'd trusted him with something more special, too. I'd saved his life. He'd saved mine. And if anyone made me smile, it was him. I hated to lose that small part of me that made me sane. And even if I didn't like to admit it, I think I revived a small part of Lockwood, too. The part that still made _him_ sane.

So I was sad.

I'd lost a lot of things. I'd lost my old leader Jacobs long ago, even before the mill incident. I'd lost my family when I'd run away, promising to never return. I'd lost the feeling of familyhood at Portland Row. I'd lost _myself_ when I'd gone down to the north of London. And now I'd lost the part of me that _believed_. Believed that everything would be better. Believed that I'd come home soon one day. Believed in Lockwood.

And I was hurt.

That pretty much summed up my life. It all flashed before my eyes in those three seconds. Then:

Wait.

I narrowed my eyes at a smirking Lockwood. There was something odd about him. I blinked. There! There was a dark aura surrounding Lockwood, making him seem to shine with an other-worldly light.

Otherworldly was right! This was a Shining Boy, a Type Two ghost that could appear as a person familiar to you.

The massive wave of relief that flooded me could've filled the sea. I was so glad it hadn't really been Lockwood. I should never have doubted.

However, if this was hat it really seemed, I was in _big_ trouble.

Lockwood-not-really glowered at me. The ghost gave a nasty smile and shimmered into another form.

George.

_"Well, you're in bad shape,"_ the ghost remarked dryly. Then his blue eyes sparkled. _"Maybe I can help you a bit!"_

_This is it,_ I thought as the ghost abruptly stood and flickered into Quill Kipps. He began stalking towards me, eyes unnervingly blank and ginger hair askew. _This is when I die_.

The ghost dove at me, wisps of plasm trailing behind, and I rolled to the side, holding my bound hands close to my back. I bumped my head on the chair and it toppled over me. I tried to tuck in my legs and swing my arms in front so I could maneuver better, but my legs were too long. I glanced up and my heart missed a beat.

The ghost swooped down on me, and I flinched.

The plasm cut through my bonds, and I gaped rather stupidly at my free hands. I quickly snapped into action, wrenching off my gag, taking huge gulps of musty air that tasted like heaven to me, and untying my feet. I slowly stood up and faced the thoughtful Lockwood at the center of the room. It disconcerted me to face someone so intimately familiar, but that was what the ghost aimed for. I felt hollow as I shut off my feelings.

"All right," I said slowly, hands clenching as I tried to get feeling to flow back into them. My rapier glittered enticingly, but I didn't make a move towards my belt. The emotionless ghost stood there not moving, now the mirror image of myself.

I took a deep breath. "You want to play? Let's play. I'll make you a deal. But we'll have to do it—"

I smiled wolfishly, a dangerous gleam in my eye. The room got ten degrees colder. There was no turning back. This was it.

"—my way."

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"This is the only place he'd go where we'd know where to find her." Their voices echoed down the corridor, coming closer.

"And why would he do this? Go to a place where we'd know how to find?" Kipps's voice challenged stonily. There was an underlining current of suppressed anger and fear.

"Because that's how Casper would do it," a new voice interrupted, too familiar. "That's what _Lucy_ would do. Those two are alike like nothing else can. Both like to play games. And both like to have near-death experiences at least 100 times every year!"

A sharp voice, the first person's, snapped, "What'd you mean, _alike_?"

Then Lockwood crashed into a calm Lucy who stood leaning against the inside of the door, polishing a rapier which she smartly snapped back through her belt.

There was a few seconds of freeze-tag where everyone stood there like they'd all been ghost-touched dead, their breaths pluming in the air, eyes wide as goose eggs, and mouths slack with astonishment. Then George's glasses slid off his nose and fell softly to the floor.

"Excuse me," George said, his voice muffled as he bent to pick them up. His enormous behind bumped a frozen Godwin twelve feet back, knocking over Shaw.

Kipps turned to his team, then yelled at George, who dragged Flo into the argument.

I was rubbing my forehead with a sigh when all traces of tiredness vanished as I felt Lockwood at my shoulder.

"Lucy," Lockwood breathed, "You're alive." His dark eyes shone with an inner light, and in that moment, we could've stood there gazing at each other until the end of time for all I cared.

Somewhere in the background, as Lockwood and I instantaneously slid closer together and stared, entranced, into each other's dark eyes, a ghost hummed a "Here Comes the Bride" song.

My throat went dry as Lockwood bent down and I was thinking, _this is it_.

And what _was_ it?

Something I never found out as Holly barged in between us, causing Lockwood to stumble back and glare at the back of her red-headed self.

Actually, I felt much like glaring myself.

"Lucy!" Holly exclaimed, engulfing me in an enormous hug. I made sure to squeeze Holly as tight as a boa constrictor. "You saved me!"

"I did?" I said flatly as I gave her a dead-pan expression worthy of Queen Victoria's royal portrait. "Last I knew, I was staring at the ground."

"Oh no," Holly explained cheerfully. "You provided the distraction while I got away. It's just too bad they took you. But yo look fine to me."

"Yes," I answered distractedly. "It's fine."

Flo jutted in casually, "She never actually told us how she _escaped_."

Something in Flo's tone made me look back at her. She was giving me a queer look, like she'd eaten something sour. Her bright blue eyes jerked back and forth between two things I couldn't identify.

I cocked my head. "What?" I was puzzled.

Flo looked like she was about to throttle me.

But then my view of her was obscured by Kipps's freckled face.

He dove straight to the point. "Did you deal with the ghost?"

I allowed a small smile. "Yes, that's done."

"Was it like they said?" George mused. "I don't see any bloody handprints or—"

"Well," I said, waving his doubts away, "the boy certainly glowed." We walked out of the haunted house. "But back to business. Next action is for me to stop the wedding."

"You mean _us_," George corrected.

A small smile curved my lips. "Yes, _us_." I turned my back on Lockwood's dark, scrutinizing stare. His gaze burnt into my back like a bullet.

I called for a taxi and one miraculously appeared over the hill. I looked towards the horizon. The sun was just setting, throwing a rosy mantle over the sky.

The taxi pulled up. I put my hand on the door handle and turned back towards them.

"That's too small for all of us," Flo observed.

I smiled. "Meet me at DEPRAC's tomorrow. Only I can solve the case now."

And I dove into the taxi.

_End of Chapter 11_


	12. Chapter 12: A Mission For the Foolhardy

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_12: A Mission For the Foolhardy Alone _

I slammed the door shut, but there was a _thud_, and then someone yanked it open. I kicked at Lockwood as the car began pulling away at an alarming speed, but Lockwood tossed himself in and the door shut itself as the taxi swerved. I heard the faint alarmed calls of our team as the taxi sped away.

"Curse it, Lockwood!"

Lockwood flashed me a mega-watt smile. "We didn't finish what we started."

"Sandy Plains Boulevard," I called to the driver as I righted myself with dignity.

"You're glad I'm here, aren't you?" Lockwood had that maddeningly soft smile on his face.

"Don't push it."

"I know you, Lucy Carlyle. And I'm glad you're here."

I turned, my cheeks burning hot, and tried to punch that insolent Lockwood, but he just caught my wrist and held it. Gently.

"No," I admitted. "Your company's worse than a hog's."

I leaned in, not sure what the hell I was doing, and as Lockwood turned his head, I glimpsed the scene over his shoulder.

We weren't driving where we were supposed to.

I jerked away from Lockwood and tried the door to my left. It was locked. I turned to Lockwood and saw that he'd already tested his door. He was wrestling with the driver, and as the driver reared back, I gasped.

It was Sybil.

"You little—f!" Then I punched his nose. The taxi was driving back into busy northern London, and with a war behind the wheel, no one was exactly driving. The way we were going, we were going to set the criminal record soon.

I shoved Lockwood out of the way and grabbed Sybil's collar.

"You know how to run?" I asked.

And then I opened the driver's door and tossed him out.

I quickly shut the door, wriggled into the driver's seat, and pressed my foot on the gas. We zoomed forward and smashed the bumper into a ghost lamp.

I viciously wrenched the wheel—and it came off.

I looked at Lockwood sheepishly. Lockwood raised a dark eyebrow.

"I guess we're going to have to walk."

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I took an emergency trip to Apartment 41C.

"I'm dressing," I announced to Lockwood as I locked the door behind us and fled into the bedroom.

"What about me?"

I growled as I turned back. Lockwood had the innocent look of a shark. "You're good enough to make a tiger cry."

While I left Lockwood to ponder the figurative language I'd just said hastily, I threw on a silver gown that was tailored to rip off easily if the need came to. The skirt was wide and flowing, the silk folds concealing my clothes and rapier underneath. You couldn't suspect.

As I marched out of the bedroom, deciding to leave on my boots and putting nothing in my hair, I glanced out the window.

Then my head snapped back.

"What?!"

I ran over and jumped onto the kitchen counter, folding back a corner of the red velvet curtains. My eyes goggled at the sight.

Kipps, Godwin, Shaw, Flo, and George were high-tailing it towards this apartment complex. They were already at the door!

"Shoot."

Then I turned. Lockwood hadn't heard a single distressed syllable. He stood there bent over a small paper packet stapled together, one dark lock hanging over his forehead.

"Hey! Mister Handsome!"

Lockwood looked up, his eyes clearing. "Sorry, did you call me?"

I scowled as I jumped down from the counter. "Not you. They're coming, right _now_. We have to—hey!"

I snatched the papers out of Lockwood's hands.

"Nice drawings," Lockwood said pointedly.

"I hope you didn't see the last one," I muttered, stuffing the papers into a hidden dress pocket.

Lockwood looked at me. "Well, Lucy, you're as beautiful as ever."

"Don't even get me talking," I said, furiously trying to hide my blush. "We have to go. They're coming."

Lockwood yanked at my arm. "Why can't they come and help us?" he asked seriously.

I sighed. Since when did he care? "They can't come to Casper's party. And it wouldn't work, for reasons you don't understand."

Lockwood let go of me and crossed his arms. "Try me."

I began walking towards a wall covered in small paintings. "They're coming to the door, so I'll have to use the tunnels."

Lockwood's voice was dangerously quiet. "You?" I froze, my back turned to him.

I sighed. "Sorry, Lockwood, but…"

I whirled around as he lunged at me. I grabbed the pistol under the couch's pillows and smashed the butt of the gun across Lockwood's temple. He crumpled, senseless.

I heard the pounding of footsteps up the stairs echoing closer.

I tossed the gun away. "But this is a mission for the foolhardy alone."

_End of Chapter 12_


	13. Chapter 13: The Last Stand

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_13: The Last Stand_

The motorcycle veered up onto Sandy Plains Boulevard. The streets were bustling with loud, jeering voices and spinning, bright lights. The large building, near where Winkman himself often set his black market sales, stood ominously at the corner of the street. It had been rented out to a certain Casper this certain night, and had an interesting history if I had ever chosen to research it.

I hopped off the motorcycle and pulled off my biker's helmet, shaking my messy dark locks out fo my sharp eyes. The motorcycle had been borrowed by Winkman. Well, borrowed _permanently_ might be a better term, with absolutely no intention to drive it back, unless the situation suited me.

I stepped forward, eyeing the destination with narrowed eyes. I tried to walk across the street without tripping on my long silver dress, my dark cloak a sinister contrast on the roses that adorned the hem of my dress sleeves, skirt, and collar. The cloak was a courtesy of a certain friend who didn't always stay on the same side but helped me out either way. Many of my shifty friends were like that. Loyal friends were hard to come by. I felt as if I were in a dream, in which I was surrounded by pirates, all of them less trustworthy than the next, while I stood alone, the last honest girl of the Seven Seas. And to call myself honest…you can see how the world had changed.

As I approached the dark-tainted, forlorn double doors of the darkened building, crossing from the light-hearted, joyous, and bright part of town to the dark, sinister, and deadly domain of _Lord Casper_, I felt my mood instantaneously shift. Shadow rippled as silent, hefty guards armed to the teeth stepped out to confront me. The moonlight's rays suddenly lit up my dark eyes and soft but deadly smile, and the guards stepped back, giving me a slight yet deferential nod of respect as I glided up and pushed through the doors. I walked down a long, darkened hallway, feeling the eyes of snipers up on the roof beams staring down at me. The door at the end looked ordinary, but as I approached, I heard the faints sound of laughter and music.

And just as I hesitantly laid my hand against the cool, hard wood of the door, it swung open abruptly, causing me to flinch, and the sounds of loud talk and the bright light shining from within struck brightly out across my retinas.

"Lucy!"

I forced a smile, matching Casper's stiff features and cried, "Casper, you big loony! Come here and give me a big hug!"

It was an ill joke. None of us moved. In the background, the music and light voices contrasted against the somber mood and tension arising between the two archenemies, one struck against a dark background, the other silhouetted against the bright haze of light from the room.

"Wow," Casper said conversationally, his voice strained. His blond hair glistened in the yellow light. He was sweating. Maybe from the heat.

Or something else.

"I haven't seen you since—"

"—You attacked me!" I exclaimed brightly. "Look at the aftermaths!"

It was true. My hair was a mess—though not exactly from being attacked by Casper last night—and the cuts that adorned my face made me an interesting figure. I spread my arms out, grinning idiotically.

Casper swallowed. However, behind his nervous façade, his blue eyes were sharp and calculating.

"Lucy! How nice of you to come!"

Reyna bounced in, and Casper started to turn, but she shoved his head back forward.

"You know it's bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the wedding," Reyna scolded her husband-to-be. Then she turned to me. "I knew you'd eventually change your mind!"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Change my mind I did."

A black-haired girl in a white dress raced up, scowling.

"Miss, the wedding's about to start!" The girl cast a woeful eye over Reyna's half-finished auburn curls, and the hanging ribbons sagging on Reyna's white dress. "Come on," the girl groaned as she and another bridesmaid dragged Reyna away.

"It's going to be a night, hm?" I said as I brushed by Casper. In my peripheral vision, I could see his silent form standing at the door, unmoving.

As I walked down the aisle and tried to find a seat up front before the bells chimed eight and the bride entered in all her eye-catching glory, I casually wove the rose I'd swiped from Casper's hidden tuxedo pocket into my hair with an inconspicuous brush of my hand against my hair. I suppressed a smile as I sat down.

Things were about to get feisty.

_BOOM!_

The clocks of Casper's eerie domain chimed a dooming countdown as everyone instantly became silent and all head turned at the rustle of a silken skirt.

_BOOM!_

I was the only one who saw the priest step to the altar solemnly, and Casper take his place at the end of the red-carpeted aisle, smiling. A smile of anticipation and menace. Casper's head started to turn…

_BOOM!_

…and our eyes locked. Casper's blue eyes were cold, and his smile more so. Then I gave him a confident grin, and Casper's own faltered momentarily.

_BOOM!_

I turned around, still smiling, as I watched a gorgeous Reyna Martin walk proudly down the aisle, veil flowing like a trail of silver tears behind her.

_BOOM!_

The rose in my hair weighed my head down like a burden. Surely Casper must've noticed already? But then, he rarely notices the _important_ things.

_BOOM!_

Reyna was halfway down the aisle. By the rate she was going, it would take months for me to get to the cake.

_BOOM!_

And when Reyna reached Casper, he smiled. He offered his arm, the perfect figure of a groom, all smiles and sincere gestures and form, as he helped a blushing Reyna up the steps. This time, she would be the last victim. This time, Casper didn't need to keep his murders secret. No longer. This time, he'd do it in public, because nothing held him back from resurrecting his dead sister.

Except me.

_BOOM!_

As the clock struck the final hour, an expectant hush fell over the room. I glanced at the carpet.

Red like blood…

And as the priest started talking, his words blurring together into a monotone of words, while Reyna stared rapt at the priest, Casper, still smiling, casually reached a hand to his laced sleeve.

And froze.

Nobody noticed anything odd, their full attention caught on the seemingly perfect couple, but I felt the blood slowly rise to my head, my heart hopping in my chest, as an invisible force pressed on my ears nd the din of the room gave way to oppressed silence pounding away in my head.

Casper's blue eyes caught on mine. His eyes widened a fraction at the blood-red rose in my hair. Finally.

I stood up, my chair toppling over with a dramatic crash. An ivory-inlaid knife materialized in my hand as I withdrew it from my own sleeve.

"Hey, Casper!" I called, my voice mocking. I twirled the knife above me, then caught it with the other hand. I grinned as everyone stared at me, Casper's glare melting a hole in my forehead. "Missing something?" Casper's lips were pressed so thin together that I couldn't have traced it with a fine-tip pen. "You want it?"

I held out the knife and my expression hardened. "Come get it."

Chaos exploded as I rolled aside before Winkman dove to get me. Disoriented from the crowd's screams and the thick, sturdy leg of chair that my forehead had collided with, I barely registered him before Winkman twisted my arm behind me in a painfully tight hold and yanked me up, forcing me on my toes.

I bit my lip at the pain as, admid the confusion, Casper stepped up to me, regal and cold. I tried to jerk away as Casper's gloved hand reached for my chin, but a yank from Winkman left pain thrumming through my arm, back, and brain.

Casper tilted my head up, inspecting me with a sickening eye. "Aw, Lucy, how convenient for you to have come alone. I'm in need myself of a _host_." Casper nodded to Winkman. I jerked as Winkman began forcing me along, but he simply twisted my arm higher and the tips of my boots barely trailed along the petal-strewn ground. "I must admit, I'm impressed. Not everyone's like you, Lucy."

Casper suddenly turned and pressed his mouth to mine. I bucked, but the forceful kiss broke abruptly anyway as someone cracked Casper across the ribs. With Casper out of the equation, I ducked as the chair flew across and smacked Winkman across his face. Someone yanked me out of his grip, and I stumbled against the strong, broad chest.

"Thank you—"

I looked up and stumbled back. I ripped off my dress as I ran, ready to fight, but Lockwood caught up to me in three strides and grabbed my arm in a vise-like grip, yanking me around.

"Why did you go here alone?" Lockwood's voice was low and dangerous. Anger made him look more handsome.

I tried to shake him off. "I—I—"

Lockwood backed me against the wall. "Lucy, listen to me!"

"No!" I yelled back. I tried to push Lockwood back, but it was as if I fought a brick wall. "I'm trying to save you, I'm trying to—"

"Won't you understand?" Lockwood's eyes were passionately dark. His face was so close to mine, that, despite the dark, I could see the dilation of his pupils. "I—"

The floor lurched. Briefly, behind Lockwood, I could see Kipps, Godwin, Shaw, Flo, and George battling Casper's and Winkman's goons. Then we all fell through the chasm the floor opened up and the darkness swallowed us and our screams.

_End of Chapter 13_


	14. Chapter 14: The Final Kill

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_14: The Final Kill _

I blinked in the sudden light of golden torchlight. I touched the hilt of my rapier to assure myself that it was still there, and then I wobbly stood up.

The room was a heptagon, and the entire, smooth concrete floor was marred by brilliant white chalk outlining a heptagon and circles at various points at each vertex. A small circle stood alone at the heptagon's center, and the dark objects I'd seen in Casper's bedroom were line up at each vertex of the heptagon, in each circle drawn by chalk.

_Coffins_, I realized.

That's not good.

We all sensed the moment when the spirits of the 6 wives arrived. The cold rose in a freezing blizzard, a wind blasting through the wind. The girls arose with a psychic howl that nearly blew away the physical barrier between Listeners and agents who didn't have the talent.

But 2 circles were empty. The seventh and the circle which would've held the _host_.

Someone fell on top of me.

Casper grasped at me, trying to tie me down. We rolled and punched, and suddenly his weight lifted and I found myself facedown on the ground. I turned my head, my cheek painfully cold where it cam in contact with the unforgiving cement, and spotted a thin book, open.

The _Necromancer_.

"That's it!" I cried. I ignored the battle in the background, good against evil, and knew.

There must be an incantation in there that would free the spirits trapped in the spell. I dragged the book towards me, and then something stepped on my wrist.

I tried twisting, but Casper simply reached down, while I writhed in pain. As soon as he was within reach, I grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the ground. I hastily his the _Necromancer_ underneath me, and then Casper attacked me. I tried to get my legs underneath me, but he dragged me down with him over and over and over again. One arm wrapped around my waist, entrapping my arms, and one around my throat, Casper's dry lips brushed against my ear as he hissed, "Where _is it_?"

I gasped and tried to squirm free. Casper held me down. My hand snuck down and I tossed my paper packet filled with drawings at Casper. He let go of me with one arm and snatched it. In the split second it took him to realize he'd been tricked, I freed my arms, grabbed Casper's head, and smashed my hard forehead against Casper's. Blood cascaded down onto me like an ill blessing, but the main object had been reached—Casper was out cold.

I reached behind me and slipped on the blood-covered floor. I grasped the _Necromancer_ and began flipping through it frantically, my desperation growing every second. I would never find it! There were too many words, too many pages!

Suddenly, a frigid wind blew through and the book's pages flipped until it stuck on a page:

To Free A Trapped Spirit

I looked up in awe and a certain spirit hovering over a coffin in a chalk circle caught my eye. Lockwood's sister looked at me solemnly. I got the message. Time was running out.

I looked at the words. Sword clashes, yells, and psychic howls blended together as film before my eyes.

I read haltingly, acutely aware of the coming danger. _Everything_ was at stake.

_"Secneuqesnoc/neesnu/ot/rednerrus/erofereht/dna/lleps/siht/ni/depart/sluos—"_

I heard Lockwood's desperate cry over the din of everyone's rowdy fighting.

_"LUCY!"_

I didn't notice at first. There was numbness. And then I heard, despite the noise, _drip. Drip. Drip._

I looked down. Red coated the floor.

And it was my blood.

My breath wouldn't come. The tip of the knife poked through my chest. Holly stood behind me, breathing heavily. On my knees, I turned to her incredulously, slightly in shock.

"He's mine," Holly hissed. She grabbed my collar, her face inches from mine. Her pretty features were contorted in rage and craze. "He's _mine_!"

I weakly tried to reach behind me to pull out the knife, but it was no use. The pain came as a hurricane. The only thing that kept me up was Holly's shaking hands.

Then there was a _whoosh_ only audible to my ears, and I suddenly had an acute sense of all senses.

I was dying.

Something rose _out of the floor_. Casper's sister. Even in the dim light, she was a beauty, but had a cold cruelness about her. I realized that I was considered Casper's seventh "wife." The final kill.

And now Casper's sister was going to look for a host.

Holly stared over her shoulder. She whipped back to me with fury and terror in her brilliant green eyes.

"What have you done?!" Holly cried.

I smiled tiredly. My strength was draining away. "What have _you_ done?"

The ghost girl dove at Lockwood, who had been trying to desperately maneuver through the warring crowd to reach me. Lockwood ducked and the ghost girl glowed fiercely and shrieked, with violent revenge contorting her features.

Casper began stirring.

Holly screamed.

The ghost boy from Lover's Lane had come, right on schedule—and sealing our deal in cement.

The Type Three ghost boy clashed with Casper's ghost girl. Plasm flew and sparked. Wind whipped through, throwing the light sideways and unbalancing the power in the room.

As I turned back to the _Necromancer_, my actions reaching through a thick layer of sludge as if I were already drowning, Holly tried to stop me. Grabbing me by the hair, she dragged me back. Then she crumpled, a hit from Kipps's hilt knocking her out cold. Kipps turned to me but was set upon by Sybil from behind. I wished that I could help, especially, after glancing around the room, for Lockwood, who was fighting Winkman himself alone.

But even though I was dying, I was still the center of the action. All I had were three more words.

And as I crawled towards the Necromancer, its pages open and serene among the blood and chaos around it, the sluggish yet loud beats of my heart echoed through my ears in the rhythm of a death toll.

_Thump-thump._

I reached the book and it took all my effort not to go sprawling all over it in an exhaustion that would lead to fast but merciful death.

_Thump-thump_.

I tried to make sense of the words. Where had I stopped?

_Thump-thump_.

For strength, I looked up. Lockwood's eyes locked onto mine from across the room. And electric jolt went through my chest.

_Thump-thump_.

Lockwood overthrew Winkman. I looked back down. If Lockwood could be strong, so could I.

_Thump-thump_.

In death united.

My lips were hard to move, yet I shoved past the fatigue, and as I slumped over, the wisps of faint words escaped past a narrow gap.

_"Eht…eerf…"_ I gasped. Blood trickled down my lip and I exhaled, _"I."_

The spirits trapped in the spell howled. Windows exploded in a shattering noise above. I felt a brush of wind on my cheek as I lay there, and I wearily opened on eye to see Lockwood's sister hovering next to me.

Her blue eyes spoke sympathy, and then she smiled and disappeared softly like a forgotten memory.

Casper's spirit was forcibly yanked from this world by means unknown, and I felt the ghost boy's watchful stare at me as he made his escape.

I flopped on my back, the ceiling incredibly far away. I was dying, and the only thing that held me back was a voice. A sob.

"Lucy! Oh, Lucy!"

Someone lifted me up, one hand cradling my head, the other under my knees, and I think I saw Lockwood.

And he was crying.

Our lips seemed so far away, and then I felt the brush of Lockwood's hair as he bent his head near mine.

I floated away on a wave of dreams, and the one that stuck in my mind had only one name.

_Lockwood._

_End of Chapter 14_

**Notice something when Lucy said the incantation? Switch the words backwards. Review**!


	15. Chapter 15: United

_**LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY**_

_15: United_

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

My eyelids fluttered as I awoke as if from a pleasant dream. The drone of a heart-beat monitor welcomed me to a hospital bed my eyes took in when they opened. An IV connected my arm to a movable IV stand. My chest was tight from wrapped bandages around my chest.

It all came back to me in a rush of images. George, Holly, Kipps, Godwin, Casper, Winkman, and Lockwood battled before my eyes. The scenes of blood, chaos, and devastation exhausted me.

I closed my eyes.

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

So I was alive. I wasn't sure how I felt about that fact.

"Here we are, uncovering the damage."

I opened my eyes and looked up to see the giant TV screen hooked up near the ceiling, the brown-haired broadcaster's face a perfect mask of solemnity and neutrality. I sighed.

"The scene at the Sandy Plains is a wreck. A man named John Casper is held responsible and is currently at Scotland Yard to await trail. Fittes agents and those of Lockwood &amp; Co. battled ghosts and Casper's men in order to keep London safe. A man named Julius Winkman is suspected of helping John Casper. However, police are still looking for him, so any information to his whereabouts would be appreciated.

"New evidence shows that John Casper was alos the same would-be assassin who tried to take the lives of Penelope Fittes and Steve Rotwell. More information can be found at our website.

"Meanwhile, two agents are currently held in the hospital for one stab wound and one ghost-touched. Inspector Montagu Barnes of DEPRADC says that Scotland Yard and DEPRAC will pay for the hospital fees."

_Grudgingly_, I thought.

"And lastly, the house at Lover's Lane has been cleared by the same group of agents who bravely fought against Casper and his allies. Miss Lucy Carlyle, especially, convinced the ghost, not identified as Alexander Hollow, to leave."

I frowned, but let it slip past my mind. Something else was bothering me, and I couldn't afford to get caught over a slight mistruth that wouldn't hurt anyone.

"She is currently in the hospital, and doctors say she's recovering at a fast rate."

Oh no!

I suddenly remembered that the woman had talked about _2_ people who were injured. I didn't really remember what had happened before I blacked out, but Lockwood had probably carried me…to the hospital? It was too far, but that was beside the point. It couldn't have been Lockwood, could it? Or George, or Flo, even Kipps, Godwin, or Shaw. Holly was fine—after all, she'd had a nice time stabbing me.

Carefully, I sat up. The monitor beeped a little faster, but apparently, my heart rate was steady enough not to get the nurses running. I slowly unclamped the clipper on my middle finger and with one quick yank rid myself of the needle buried under my pale skin. I undid my leg restraints and swung out of bed. Noticing that I was in a hospital gown, I instantly looked for my rapier, but it was obviously not there. I found a cord and tied it around my waist. I looked ridiculous, but I somehow got the notion in my head that the more presentable I looked, the more chance I could get away with this.

I poked my head around the thick door. Doctors and nurses bustled around, barely giving me a glance. I took a step and winced. My wound was bothering me more than I would care to admit.

I stumbled, a wave of lightheadedness causing me to collide with someone in the hallway.

I whipped around then grimaced front the pain.

Lockwood's arm supported me. "Lucy, what're you doing?"

It's always very embarrassing and undignified when your best friends catch you in the hallway of a hospital with only an ugly hospital gown on. But Lockwood's voice caught my attention the most, a queer mixture of tension and relief sharp in his voice.

George folded his arm, glaring at me like it was _my _fault I was in a hospital and they caught me wandering.

"You're doing something bad," George said, "aren't you?"

"Wow, your powers of perception are so acute," I said sarcastically, then scowled. "No, I'm not. It's called being productive. Am I not free?"

Lockwood frowned. Worry creased his forehead, and an irresistible urge to smooth a dark lock of hair out of his tantalizing dark eyes made me think that a) I was losing my mind, b) maybe there was a reason I was in a hospital, and c) _Lockwood looked so cute when he worried! _

"No," Lockwood scolded. "You're supposed to be resting."

A few months ago, I'd feel embarrassed at being scolded by Lockwood. Especially Lockwood. But now, I just felt rebellious.

"I _am_ rested."

"You know," George interrupted. "You two will keep at it until one of you loses a tongue. So: Lucy, what are you looking for?"

"Who's the other person?" I gave in flatly.

Lockwood and George exchanged a look. When Lockwood turned back, his features were tight and dark.

Lockwood said nothing, just literally dragged me back into my room.

George followed. "Let's just say that we need you now." George gave me a sideways glance. "If you're willing."

I snorted. "Of course, providing that Flo's admitted. I'm just wondering, how did Holly get ghost-touched?"

Lockwood turned. He hadn't released my hands yet.

"So you'll stop being an idiot and join us again?" Lockwood's dark eyes were solemn and intense.

I grinned. "If you're willing," I echoed, and it felt like the same old family again.

"The doctor says you should stay a few more days," Lockwood said. George exited the room, waving and muttering something about food. "Oh, and Ms. Penelope sends her regards."

I smiled as I climbed into the bed. I desperately wanted Lockwood—anyone, really—to stay and talk to, but I didn't know how to word such an intimate request. I was pretty sure Lockwood had something to do, anyway, and for a moment, I felt like the Lucy I'd been a few weeks ago: tentative, reluctant, slightly distant and scared.

"Seems like everyone's doing that these days."

Lockwood sat on the edge of my bed, smoothing the covers with one thin hand that nearly brushed mine.

"Kipps, too," Lockwood continued. Lockwood suddenly looked up at me, a familiar gleam in his warm eyes and a mischievous smile curving his lips.

Lockwood reached a hand into his long coat pocket and paused. "Do you like teddy bears?" Lockwood set a pink bear on my bed, next to my thigh. Its magenta button eyes glittered at me. "I mean, I thought it'd look nice with you…"

I frowned down at the bear and picked it up. "Sure, Lockwood, I'm—"

Distracted by the teddy bear, I didn't notice Lockwood, who'd shifted closer, and suddenly his face was a bit too close to mine and we were hugging each other tight, like long lost family members. His body was strong and sturdy and I found myself thinking that maybe Lockwood wasn't so unreal after all.

I rested my chin on Lockwood's shoulder, sighing happily. And it was nice.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A wind danced through London, flitting through the alleys where crooks hid, past where the Fittes Agency were celebrating another night, past 35 Portland Row where a team of loyal friends wistfully waited for a certain girl to return, and near the hospital. It fluttered cautiously up to a window, and then zoomed up. Catching on something, it dropped, twirling down, down, down, down.

A piece of paper floated ever-so-slowly past, flipping in the soft breeze, and the neat handwriting could just be seen:

_Lucy, I'll find you.—H.B._

_End of Chapter 15_

_End of LOCKWOOD &amp; CO.: THE HOLLOW BOY_

**Ta-da! Thanks for reading my first fully-completed fanfic! I hope you've enjoyed it! Review! (Anyone have any idea what I should write next?)  
**


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